


Ganymede

by labocat



Series: Tales from the Storm Throne [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F, IN SPACE, Politics, Treason, court intrigue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 17:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16288691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/pseuds/labocat
Summary: The Lord Song has been arrested and executed for treason, his daughter called back to the capital to prove her loyalty. All Talia Song wants is to go back to her library and books, far away from the politics that she finds herself trapped in.Calypso Zhao thought all she wanted out of life was to show her loyalty to her land and protect its people. Uncovering a treacherous plot was part and parcel with that. A Council position, a title, and a wife was more than she expected. Not to mention the feeling the plot didn't end with Lord Song's death.





	Ganymede

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frolic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frolic/gifts).



 

“Rise.” Cal’s head snapped up at the sharp tone, quickly scrambling to her feet and gathering her things faster than she thought possible as the voice started to get further away.

“You’ve done well, almost remarkably so.” The Regent turned back to her, golden robes rustling as he simply watched her struggle to put all of the ornamental pieces of her armor she’d been told she would need back into their place, whether or not they actually fit.

“Sir.” She couldn’t get the helmet hooked back on - who decided that a helmet should hook onto the hip of her guard anyway?

“Lord Song was one of our most trusted nobles and one of the old families; to have been wrong about bringing him in would have been the end of your career.”

“It was my honor to serve the throne; I am sure any other in the Guard would have made the same decision. Sir,” she added, hoping it hadn’t seemed too abruptly.

His eyes narrowed briefly, but he continued. “A vicious plot to undermine the Throne, possibly the Empire, and right under our very noses. You have exemplified very duty of the Imperial Guard in rooting it out and bringing to us.”

“Sir.” Cal hated feeling repetitive, especially as he talked in circles around her, praising where he’d been accusing, but this was the _Regent_ and nothing he’d said had been a question. She knew how these things went. She’d learned that much, at least, from the past few weeks, from hissed instructions and not-at-all-subtle hints. They walked along the corridor into another room, where he stopped and turned towards her again. Cal wondered absently if there was a specific class nobles went to to learn how to get their robes to flare as they turned in such a manner. It seemed impossible, to make that heavy gold cloth seem weightless, when she couldn’t even do the same with linen. Her robes were shorter, of course, but it still should have been possible.

“You shall be rewarded, of course. We would not wish to lose such - loyalty.” Hells, he was speaking again. Had he paused at the end of that? Looked at her? Cal couldn’t tell and even if she could, couldn’t have opened her mouth for all the ships in the sky. She shouldn’t have been looking in the first place, much less scanning the Regent’s speech for clues as if he were some vagrant she were interrogating on the street. “Lord Song’s position is open, and cannot remain as such for long.” Even without meeting his eyes, Cal had the distinct sensation of being watched, being looked into and being found, if not wanting, at least not adequate. She knew she was just a lowly Lieutenant in the Guard, but her Captain was a trustworthy one. She’d known she wouldn’t take credit for Cal’s work, but now Cal almost wished she had.

“You shall take his place.”

“He has a daughter, I bel— _what_?” Only by the grace of the Mercies did Cal keep her hands by her side as she broke off her words. Of all the things she had expected the Regent to say - even asking her opinion on which nobles were trustworthy choices would have been a shock - this one still did not register.

His mouth twisted as his hands did around the top of his cane, a thing of wrought gold and inlay that matched his robes and that she could not have bought for years’ worth of savings. “We would have hoped you had better manners than this, but it is not up to us. Kneel.” A touch on her shoulder with the cane, one that she would have flinched away from for fear of sullying it, or for what it meant, even had it not come down as hard as it had, then the other.

Cal had not been aware that she’d actually knelt until she heard, again, “Rise.”

“Rise, Lord Song.” And she rose, her thoughts a swirling mess trying to sort out what could have happened and how it had happened to _her_.

“You will, of course,” she heard, faintly, and she found herself scrambling again as the Regent moved away once more, without explanation, whatever import of the room he had brought them to lost on her with no hope of remedy. She glanced back, briefly, as they exited the small room, its mirrored walls reflecting the swirling balls on their pedestals. She thought they were meant to represent the planet they orbited, with its marbled storms and fickle gravity. Her footsteps echoed throughout the corridor as she ran, wincing with each one, but in a choice between manners or missing whatever the Regent said, her choice was made already. He looked back, once, shoulders stiff and chin raised, disapproving. “You will, of course take your place on the Council immediately. We have arranged for the young Miss Song to come home from university at Matoung at once; your marriage will cement your claim to the position and still any tongues.”

“Mar—” Cal’s jaw snapped shut before she could get more than a syllable out, not wanting to see the sharp glare she was sure the Regent would send her way if she interrupted him again. He stopped anyway, turning to her. She bowed, quickly looking at the tips of her boots and the floor instead. “Forgive me, but is it wise to keep the line intact?” She knew from her lessons, both in school and in the barracks that most rebellions had ended in a complete eradication of the noble lines, the bloodlines fresh even if the names carried on. While the Empire had prospered, the Throne had changed hands time enough.

“The benevolence and mercy of the Storm Throne knows no bounds, as you know.” Cal felt herself bowing at the familiar words, the rote response almost out of her mouth before she registered the Regent had continued. “Miss Song has been on Alexandria these past few years and so is entirely untainted by this whole business. We must not have more noble blood spilled than is absolutely necessary. Each Imperial citizen is a treasure, after all.”

So the daughter had been away — but had she known nonetheless? Was that why her father had let her remain longer than most? To keep her from being associated? Or suspected?

“The wedding is set for the next redmoonrise - I trust you will be a good influence on Miss Song. Keep her within the loving arms of the Throne and carry out your duty to the Council as Lord Song as faithfully as you have to the Guard as Lieutenant Zhao. Do so and you will make us proud.” The Regent turned to bow a final time, disappearing through a pair of doors that opened outward for him; Cal only realized just in time that they were the doors that bore the royal family’s seal and stumbled as she came to an abrupt halt. Her mind was spinning.

So they wanted her to spy on Lord Song - the previous Lord Song, that is — oh that would take some getting used to — _the previous Lord Song’s_ daughter, as well as the Council. If there were more traitors to the Throne still at play, they were a threat to the Empire, and while Cal didn’t quite trust herself to cast her lot in politics, she knew how to handle threats to the Throne.

 

* * *

 

The view from the high window was stunning: lush forests as far as the eye could see, stretching out to the view of the coast and even further to the half-risen planet in the distance — stopped only by the walls of the keep, close enough that Talia could hear the sound of leaves rustling and cries of the lifeforms that lived there. No guards patrolled this part of the wall; it would be easy enough to make a rope long enough to get her down to the wall, then jump to one of the trees and down, to freedom.

For the two minutes she would be alive to enjoy it, before she could even make it to the safety of the road to port. Talia tossed a bun from her breakfast, hours untouched, as far as she could, listening as it fell through the foliage. Then turned away from the window with a sigh as she heard the answering yelps and snarls, more bone-chilling than even the most dedicated parent could imitate when telling a story to warn their children. And that was only a breakfast bun, cold and hard.

The Throne had always stated that the walls had been built by the first Imperial, carving out a small space in the Ganymedean wilds for their people to live, keeping the new colonists safe from dangers on this new land, intended to be the crown jewel of the Empire. It was true enough in these days, though it confined the people to the roads that connected cities and ports, kept taxes and tolls flowing from trade and travel - a small price to pay for safety and comfort and not having to hire a guard for each journey. Everyone knew it, and what everyone knew had to be true.

Except that didn’t stop records from disappearing. Journals and logbooks, on a shelf in the library one day, taken out for “translation” or “restoration” the next, and within a month, no record it ever existing to begin with. All in the old Earth languages, all from the first generations of the colonists. All originally from the libraries of the Old Families.

Talia had begged her father for permission to see the Song library her last visit home, months ago for the Comet Shower Days, but all she had gotten in reply was to stop speaking nonsense and get back to her studies. Her _real_ studies, he’d implied, in useful things like agriculture and land management. Not dead languages and politics. She’d stormed out and left on the earlier train to port the next day instead of staying for one last breakfast.

Quickly, she wiped her hand across her eyes at the sound of a knock interrupting her thoughts. Mourning was all well and good under normal circumstances, but filial love and traditions only went so far as an excuse when your father was executed by the Throne. Traitors lost their right for tears to be shed over them.

“Come in.” She arranged herself on the settee, slitted skirts flaring to drape over her loose pants, the proper arrangement of layers thankfully second nature at this point. She couldn’t afford slips of any kind.

“My lady.” Her maid, Emi, entered the room.

“Please, there need be no formality. _Please get up_ ,” Talia got out before the maid could even get down fully on one knee. “Just tell me the news.” She’d been waiting — so much waiting — to have her fate handed down to her by people she’d never met, simply on the merit of her name and her father’s actions.

“My lady, the Regent wishes for you to meet with him in the Green Parlor as soon as is convenient.”

“As soon as is convenient?” A pit of dread settled into her stomach.

Emi nodded. “He is there now.”

Hells. Talia inhaled sharply. “Tell him I will be there presently.” An audience with the Regent was the one thing she’d been dreading the entire boat and train ride back to Feing, but for him to be here, in her parlor, was worse than she could have thought.

“He has a companion, one of the Imperial Guard, from the look of the armor.” Talia’s head snapped up at that, but her maid had still directed the words towards the floor rather than at Talia herself. They’d been said in a rush, and Talia had the cold suspicion that the Regent’s companion was not supposed to be part of the message.

Another noble? No, Emi had said they were part of the Guard. Protection, then? But from what? She herself should pose no threat, immediately grateful for her reputation as nothing more than a dusty bookworm. It would be lunacy for her to try to take on the Regent physically, but no one had yet told her what her father had planned, so perhaps he was afraid of poison? She couldn’t recall if she had heard any rumors of the Regent travelling with a personal guard before, much less one of the Imperial Guard, but perhaps it wasn’t so rare in these days.

“Thank you. I will act surprised when I see him.” She flashed the girl a quick smile as the maid’s head darted up in surprise, a small piece of tension relaxing as the girl smiled back, equally quickly. It wouldn’t do to remain distant from her household, even if it might not be hers for much longer. She would do her best to make sure they remained apart from whatever taint they tried to stick to her father and his line.

Emi bowed and exited the room, leaving Talia once again alone. It wouldn’t do to leave the Regent cooling his heels in the parlor for long, but she also didn’t want to give him the impression she was afraid of him and appear in a rush at once. Then again, she also didn’t want to appear impertinent and as if she did not care for his opinion; he did hold her future in his hands so long as he was Regent, answerable only to the Royal Advisor, who had not been heard from in years. She sighed as she picked up a brush, recalling what she knew. He hadn’t been in the position long, but there had also been no opposition or other candidates for Regent when the previous Imperial had passed last year, leaving behind a young child and relatives lightyears away. So either decently liked or he had run a shadow campaign and had taken care of any rumors. Perhaps ten minutes. Enough time to give the impression she had been putting herself together — not a bad idea, at that — but longer than strictly necessary.

A quick brush of powder over her face, re-braiding her hair, coiling it around the back of her head as she did when she studied, hoping it would remind the Regent she was an academic, nothing more. Then consideration of whether the blue half-cape or the brown was more appropriate - the brown set off her eyes better, but the somber color might be taken as something too close to mourning — and a few more minutes just for good measure, and Talia opened the door to find Emi standing by the door waiting for her.

“Well then, let us go meet our guests.”

As she was announced into the room and swept through the doors, Talia let her shoulders drop a little, affecting what she hoped would be a good balance of tiredness and delicacy. The last thing she wanted to do right now was appear to be seen as proud and unaffected, mourning, or worse, scheming for every advantage. Before she bowed to the Regent, she quickly scanned the room, looking for the other guest. Her breath caught in surprise to see that not only was his companion, in fact, one of the Imperial Guard, but a mere lieutenant. Unlikely to be a personal guard, then, so why?

“Miss Song.” Talia swallowed quickly around the lump in her throat. At her father’s death, she should have been the next Lord Song, but with the treason charge, she knew that would be unlikely. She had not needed the Regent to confirm it, nor expected the confirmation to hurt so much. “It is a relief to see you alive and well after recent events.” Talia gave the expected nod at that, schooling her expression as he continued. “May I present Second Lieutenant Calypso Zhao, of the Imperial Guard.”

Talia bowed and murmured, “Lieutenant, it is an honor to have you in my home.” A second lieutenant, at that. What was going on? She raised her eyes to get a good look at Calypso Zhao, who also looked slightly stunned. She had strong shoulders, and a broad sort of stance at odds with the Regent’s poised one that made Talia think that she had risen up the ranks rather than having a commission bought for her. She looked young, maybe only a few years older than Talia, and looked as uncomfortable to be standing next to the Regent as Talia felt before him. Zhao looked like most of the Imperial Guards she had seen: leather armor, loose linen tunic and pants, ornamental dagger at her side, and hair pulled sharply back from her face, but even Talia could tell that it had been done with more haste than skill — a number of strands had escaped the bun, curling around her face and framing its wide-set features. But what stood out were her eyes - a startling green that reminded Talia of the algae that grew in the Ganymedean seas and that held all of the motion that her posture seemed to lack. Definitely rose through the ranks. Even more confusing, then.

“As I was telling Lieutenant Zhao before you came in, I was glad to hear you responded to the request to return to Feing so quickly; we must all pull together in these times of crisis.” Talia needed to look no further than Zhao’s widening eyes and parted lips to know the veracity of that statement. She certainly wasn’t a politician or one of the Guard aiming for a noble position, not with an expressive face and mouth like that. _Pay attention, Talia_. This was not the time to be watching Zhao’s mouth, rather than the Regent’s mask of expressions.

“Of course,” she murmured, inclining her head. “We must all do our duty to the Throne and every Island. I am happy and honored to do my part — whatever my lord asks of me if it is in the interest of our land.” Talia heard Zhao’s intake of breath, as loud in the silent parlor as if she’d shouted. Had that been too much? A cold sweat broke out over the back of her neck as she felt the Regent’s gaze, her own eyes anywhere but his, the silence drawing out longer and longer.

“We are blessed to have a servant as loyal as you, Miss Song.” She could have collapsed at the rush of relief at this words, followed hot on its heels by shame at herself for letting someone as impolitic and clearly unused to such scenes as Zhao put her on guard. “I am comforted to know we have made the right decision in how to proceed.”

This was it, the verdict, then. Surely it wouldn’t be as bad as execution, not with the thinly veiled threats to behave. “As you know, your father has cost the Throne one of our oldest, most favored lines and left us with a position that must be filled as soon as possible if harmony is to be kept.” Talia nodded, mind racing. It would not be her, clearly, not with how the Regent had addressed her, not with how he was talking up a minor noble line, no matter how long-standing it was or the position on the Council. Then who? Her eyes flicked to Zhao, horror dawning; Zhao was looking anywhere but her.

“Lieutenant Zhao has proved her loyalty to the Throne in uncovering such a vicious plot with the intent of crippling the Throne, perhaps the entire Empire, at that. Her loyalty is to be commended, and as such, we believe to be the perfect person to take on the mantle of Lord Song.” By the look in Zhao’s eyes as she finally met Talia’s, Talia knew that Zhao had expected this and that she hadn’t guarded her face quite as quickly as she’d hoped. She shoved down the part of her that wanted to wipe away that hurt look; no matter how much she knew Zhao was also a pawn in this game, she was still taking on the mantle that should have been Talia’s. At least she would get to go back to Matoung and bury herself in books. Before they disappeared, that was, but that was a thought for when she was alone and apparently able to control her expressions better than she was currently.

She opened her mouth to say something to the effect of the unending wisdom of the Throne or some such nonsense when she realized the Regent was still speaking. “We would hate to lose such a loyal subject to the stacks of books on Alexandria again or see you not well-looked after. Therefore, arrangements have been made for the wedding to be as soon as possible. The next redmoonrise was seen to be auspicious.”

No room for arguments, just simple statement of fact. Talia found herself nodding even as her mind continued to race. Next redmoonrise - Io had just set, which meant she had at most four days, possibly three, depending on when exactly they had set the wedding for. Enough to pack, but not enough to pack surreptitiously or arrange transport off of the main island, not without leaving traces.

She risked a glance at Zhao, who seemed to be finding her feet of great interest and Talia of none. She was almost certainly a pawn in all of this as well - perhaps she’d let Talia slip off back to Alexandria once all the formalities were completed. She didn’t seem the type to force a spouse or even expect anything of one. Talia could make sure it happened, make herself as unappealing and hostile a partner as possible, drive home the fact that this was a political marriage and nothing more. At least she would get to keep the Song name.

“I appreciate my lord for thinking of everything and taking such care of me. I do not know how to express my gratitude.” She knew, just _knew_ that the words had come out flat, but the Regent would never bring such a thing like tone up if she weren’t openly hostile, and she could only hope Zhao didn’t do something stupid, like be chivalrous and refuse to marry her. She cut a sharp peek Zhao’s way and sure enough, her mouth was open as if to start speaking, but at Talia’s glance, shut it quickly. Good. Perhaps she could be taught after all.

 

* * *

 

 What had she gotten herself into? Cal knew that politics were out of her depth, had never been one in the barracks who aspired to a title, only a higher military rank at the most. Orders and loyalty were good enough for her, none of these words that said one thing and tones that said another, or even words and tone that said one thing but phrasing undermined everything. Every conversation with the Regent had assured her of that, but she hadn’t quite realized how frankly he’d actually been speaking with her until Talia Song came into the room. She could barely follow their conversation, even as it became clear that she likely knew more about what had been happening in Feing than Miss Song. It had been implied that Cal would need to keep an eye on her new betrothed, but even though she could tell Miss Song had been raised at court with all its posturing and performances, she didn’t think Miss Song knew anything about her father’s plot. The Regent was being careful in his questioning, but the only thing Cal could see was Miss Song’s mouth thinning, her fists clenching. Not the sort of calm manners she would have expected from someone trying to hide something. Her reluctance at the wedding supported that as well - Cal would have expected her to have found staying at court with a spouse, not just a father, still on the Council to be advantageous. Many Council positions were gossiped to be run from their households instead of their seats, and if she had been honest with herself, Cal had been looking forward to having someone explain some of the goings-on at court further than which ladies were willing and available for flings behind curtains.

It looked as if Miss Song would be supplying neither advice nor lover’s encounters, and Cal told herself she hadn’t truly been expecting either and would make do without. No matter how much she wished Talia Song were amenable. Cal hadn’t known what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the way Talia Song had swept into the room, both commanding and delicate at the same time, shoulders hunched but mouth set, and it was all Cal could do to remember her manners and not stare outright. Her half-cape was a blue, a shade that echoed the paintings of what the sky was said to be on Earth, and she had echoed it with the paint that rimmed her eyes, which were such a piercing gold under dark, arching brows that Cal had had to immediately look away. Her hair was braided and pinned up in a simpler style than Cal would have expected for a noble, even as it made her fingers twitch to unpin it.

“Excellent. It appears to me that you both know your duty in this matter, so I will give you some time to get acquainted with each other.” The Regent’s words interrupted Cal’s train of thought, and she had turned to him, mouth open, before she realized what she was doing. Her brain caught up in time to keep her from doing anything truly stupid, but he couldn’t expect to just leave them together? Now? After just meeting and Miss Song still not knowing the details of what happened? Did the Regent expect Cal to tell her?

The Regent clapped twice, and instantly the doors opened. “May you both be well in this time of upset.” The standard greeting felt off, but Cal bowed nonetheless, intensely aware that Miss Song was not doing the same at her side. She couldn’t tell how the Regent responded to that, only that the doors seemed to be open for an inordinate amount of time, but by the time she straightened up, they were swinging shut.

The minute the door closed behind him, Cal could see then tension in Miss Song’s shoulders fall, then rise back up again. She wanted to go forward, put her hand on one of those shoulder and tell her everything would be alright. Or at least as right as Cal could make it.

The problem was that Miss Song knew more, far more than Cal suspected she knew herself, how _not_ all right this whole situation was.

Even so, Cal swallowed and stepped forward. “Miss Song,” she started, before Miss Song whirled around, chin high and defiant, an odd light in her eyes.

“I think you should call me Talia, under the circumstances, don’t you?” Her voice was silky and she walked towards Cal with more grace than Cal had ever seen; it should have been alluring and captivating like it usually was watching the court ladies, but Cal found herself stepping back, clearing the path for a prowling predator. “Calypso, was it?” Cal nodded without thinking about it, swallowing hard. “It will be noticed if you do not, and it simply _wouldn’t do_ for us to get noticed, would it?” Cal didn’t know what Miss Song - Talia - was saying, but found herself nodding again. She didn’t think she could do anything else, even if the Regent had still been in the room with her. She had known Talia had more nerve than she had shown with the Regent, but she hadn’t expected this intensity. Talia was close now, and Cal had her back against the wall, and in a wild thought, realized how hard her barracks-mates would laugh if they realized she had been cornered by a wisp of a lady, a bookworm by all accounts. Her breath caught in her throat, choking off any hope of words as Talia trailed a hand down the laces of Cal’s armor, down, and then back up to cup her neck before pulling away. Cal felt dizzy, a sensation that was only increased by Talia reaching up again and yanking her forward by her laces. Muzzily, Cal realized that Talia was actually taller than she was; she had seemed so small in the room when the Regent had been there but took up all of Cal’s vision now.

“Listen to me. We will go through with this farce, this whole marriage, please the Regent, please the whole thrice-damned court while we’re at it, you will let me go back to Alexandria and Matoung and you will take your puppet place on the puppet Council and we will only be seen together at social events where it is entirely mandatory, do you understand me?” Cal nodded, starting to feel like a wooden toy bobbing its head on a windowsill.

“There had been no great reputation from the Song household before this and there will be none after if you stay out of my way.” Her voice was starting to waver, but Cal could have moved less with a blade to her throat. “I don’t know how someone like you ever managed to be part of a plot, much less frame my father for it— ,” Talia broke off with an angry sob, pulling away abruptly and curling over into herself, leaving Cal feeling shaken. She wanted to step forward, comfort Talia, _something_ , but some part of her senses felt like the action would be the same as reaching into a nest of vipers.

But one thing stuck out to her. “Frame your father? We found him, or, well, I found him, with the papers and letters of his plot around him. There was no trail or other possible thing that could have led to anyone but him.”

Talia sucked in a breath, looking like she would work herself up into a fury again. “My father was a genius; if he was committing treason — _yes I said if, shut your mouth_ — there’s not a chance in any of the hells that he would have been caught in such a manner. Either someone framed him, or betrayed him. Did his papers implicate anyone else? Who declared it treason?”

Cal looked confused. “The Magistrate, of course. The papers were read aloud, implicated no one else, and detailed a plot to poison the food supply that would cut off the entire planet-facing side of Ganymede for generations, if not forever, weakening the Throne.”  
“Impossible.”

“I was there when the papers were read!”

“Were you there when the papers were handed to the Magistrate to be read? Can you be certain they were the same papers?” Cal’s mouth snapped shut on her reply. She’d entered Lord Song’s chambers at the Council on her rounds, found the papers on his desk, skimmed them, and handed them over when she realized what they held. Lord Song had re-entered his chambers moments later, finding her still reading them; they were in his handwriting, that was of no doubt — the shorthand characters inherited from the old languages were all but impossible to forge with any accuracy that would have matched his longhand as well. He had come quietly; Cal hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but seeing Talia like this, she started to wonder.

“All but certain, my lady. Talia.” Cal stretched out her hand to where Talia had hunched over, arms clutched about her. “Talia,” she repeated, more urgently. “I have no wish for this to be an unfortunate union for either of us, beyond current circumstances. If you do wish to return to Matoung and its halls, I will not stop you. But, in the current climate, even I can see that you may want to remain and reinforce your loyalty.” _Or impression of it_ , she did not say, even as she was surprised at herself for even thinking it, that she would expect her wife, no matter who she was, to have anything less than pure loyalty to the Throne.

“Why would he...this doesn’t make _sense_.” Talia hadn’t straightened up, wasn’t addressing anyone but the floor, but Cal had the certain thought that she should pay attention. She hadn’t thought anything at the time about the feeling that the Regent wasn’t telling her everything - he was the Regent and she was just a second lieutenant - of course he wouldn’t tell her everything.

Still, though. “Lady...Talia, I understand you’re still in shock, but—,” Cal stopped abruptly as Talia stood up, her eyes sparking.

“No, stop talking, I’m trying to think. This has nothing to do with shock and everything to do with _sense_. My father wouldn’t commit treason just to get caught before it was out of the planning stage, much less by something as _idiotic_ as poisoning the crops.”

“I’m...I’m not sure I follow.”

“Of course not, you aren’t meant to. Look, do you know where most of the Empire’s food comes from?”

Cal knew this one. “From the fields of Demeter, the second-largest island on Ganymede, our neighboring island to the east.”

Talia waved her hand. “Wrong. Most of _our_ food comes from Demeter; it doesn’t matter to us if it can only get here by boat or that Demeter is hard to land skyships on, or anything else the rest of the Empire cares about. We’re close. We’re easy to get to. From here, the rest of Ganymede is relatively easy to supply with smaller skimmers or skycraft, but the large skycraft it would take to fill to feed the rest of the Empire? Please tell me our education system is better than that.”

Cal blinked. “I...don’t know.”

“Callisto.”

“The prison colonies?”

“Of course. Callisto is easy to land large skyships on, the labor for the fields can be passed off as rehabilitation, and while the soil that terraforming resulted in can’t hold the structures a governed colony would need, it can support crops perfectly well.”

“So...poisoning the crops on Demeter wouldn’t do anything?”

“Not large scale.” Talia waved her hand again, starting to pace lost in thought, which Cal didn’t find any more comforting, but found distinctly less threatening. All her attention had pulled inward, and as much as Cal didn’t miss being pinned to the wall, she felt somehow bereft. “Feing might see some increase in food prices, and it might become more apparent that something was wrong, but the Throne would be able to cover if something had gone seriously wrong with the crops on Demeter. New seed would be brought in, terraforming reset pods would be sent, and the whole thing would blow over in a year, two at the max. An elementary attempt at bringing down the Throne, more for show than anything substantial.”

Cal cast her memory back to the previous weeks. “They certainly treated it as serious at the trial. People certainly believed it.”

Talia sighed. “Of course they would, if they believed at all similarly to you, or to Imperial propaganda, that Demeter is the bounty from which the stars are fed, and Callisto is simply prisoners learning an honest trade. What _doesn’t_ make sense is why my father is at the center of it.”

“The papers were in his hand, my lady, and he did not fight arrest. If anything he seemed...relieved.”

“Talia, please. I...apologize for my earlier manner, but you really must refer to me on familiar terms, otherwise who knows how much worse this will get for both of us.” She gave Cal a smile that could almost be genuine. “I really don’t mind so much.” She had stopped pacing, nearer to Cal than she’d started, and Cal, almost starting to relax, could smell her perfume — spicy and sweet at the same time, a scent she recognized as having been in fashion a decade ago but long gone in favor of lighter, floral scents. It suited her.

“What I _do_ mind is what this all means. There’s no way my father was planning treason, not like this, so what _was_ he planning? Why did he have to get himself executed? Why did he have to leave me? I hadn’t even — the last time — I was so mad—” She’d started to cry again, softer sobs than the furious shaking from before, and Cal dug deep to find the courage to step forward and wrap one arm around her.

“I don’t know my part in all of this, but I promise to you, Talia Song, that I will help you uncover the truth.” She tightened her hold around Talia, wrapping her other arm around as Talia moved forward instinctively in search of comfort, tensing up as she realized how close she was to Cal. But then the dam broke and she was clutching at the folds of Cal’s robes, head bowed as her shoulders shook silently and Cal wished foolishly that Talia would lean more heavily on her, let her be a true support.

After a moment, Talia straightened, her hair in disarray and eyes red, leaving Cal with the echo of her warmth and the distinct feeling that the way her heart was thumping was important. Talia squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“Are you sure you really wish to help? There is clearly something more going on, more than a sham treason plot, and I don’t know who it leads to or what it means for the Throne or the Empire. Of which you are supposed to be a loyal guard.”

This was it, the feeling of falling, of standing on the edge of a skyskip’s deck, about to jump off and trusting that your support system would hold true. Cal took a deep breath and squared her own shoulders. “Sure enough. My loyalty is to my land, and now to you. How can I call myself a loyal guard or member of the Council or subject of the Empire if I leave something like this? Or spouse if I leave you?” Talia had looked up at that, surprised, and Cal let her heart thrill a little at the realization that she could surprise Talia with more than disappointment or horror.

“Talia Song, I swear to you I will protect you and help you to the best of my abilities as you search for the end of this thread.” She took another breath. Didn’t people normally practice their vows beforehand? Not blurted out to their teary betrothed in a room that she could swear still rang with angry echoes. “I will stand by you, and if, at the end of all of this, you still wish to return to Matoung, will not stop you.”

“We.” Cal felt a hand slip against hers and squeeze, and more felt than heard breathe in. “We will search for the end of this thread. And I will help you navigate the Council; you’ll need it if you hope to actually get anywhere or any information. We’ll have to be careful — this could go to anyone, especially if my father didn’t implicate anyone in his papers.”

Cal smiled — the first time, she realized, since she had found the papers on Lord Song’s desk. “Well, Talia — my Lady Song, I look forward to working with you.” Daring, hoping, she lifted Talia’s hand and kissed the back of it, eyes never leaving Talia’s. To her delight, she watched as a blush spread across Talia’s cheeks, far more flattering than the flush from her earlier outburst.

The squeeze to her hand as it was lowered was all the notice Cal had before Talia was leaning forward and felt the brush of lips against hers, pulling back with her eyes dancing. “Practice, my Lord Song. Calypso. Perhaps this won’t be as disastrous after all.”

Cal thought about that, about the ruin they could leave in their wake if this treacherous plan did go as deep as Talia suspected, how it would shake everything. About the light in Talia’s eyes now, or the way her hand hadn’t left Cal’s. Perhaps not so disastrous after all.

 

* * *

 

Now that they were acquainted, Talia had an excuse to invite Calypso over. Under the guise of both betrothed learning more about each other as well as Calypso acquainting herself with the Song family residence, Talia found they had a surprising amount of freedom. No one bothered with chaperones for a bookworm from a disgraced father who was betrothed to a hero of the Empire, who were supposed to marry in a moment’s notice. She thanked all the Mercies she could remember that she didn’t have anything to do with the wedding preparations. The Storm Throne, having arranged, and thus sponsored her marriage, would do the work. She did not expect anything from it, and the small part of her that had watched the elaborate multi-day ceremonies with awe growing up was shoved down in favor of the practicality of the knowledge that their wedding would not be a grand affair. The less to draw attention to, the fewer people whose faces she had to lie to and pretend everything was fine to.

Calypso had shown herself to be a surprisingly open-minded ally. She’d taken the revelation that her schooling had skimped severely with more charity than Talia expected of someone who had gone into service for the Throne, and had fairly thrown herself into investigation. While subterfuge was clearly not and clearly would never be Calypso’s strength, not with those green eyes that showed every emotion that even crossed her mind, nor mouth that twisted every which way, and really, Talia should be thinking of neither. Nor or the way those lips had felt against her hand, or underneath her own lips. It felt like treachery to wish she didn’t have to investigate the trail her father had laid at her feet, to think that if she had simply been arranged to marry Calypso at the start of it all, this would have been much easier. That she might have slept at all, not tossing and turning between guilt and hope.

“Lady Talia, I hope you slept better than I suspect.” Calypso entered the room where she waited, Emi showing her through the door to Talia’s set of rooms. It was all Talia could do to keep from rolling her eyes. If this was how Calypso thought nobles talked, how to couch her meaning in word choice, they had a lot more work than she had thought. Even given her time in front of the mirror, there was no masking the shadows that betrayed her lack of sleep, but it was not an appropriate topic in front of others, and they would have to work on levels of formality of address if they were to convince the court they were a couple that had been arranged but found loving advantage in each other. Though Calypso had let her hair down today, instead of pulling it back in a bun, the loose waves of it falling over the tunic that marked her as part of the Guard, even out of her armor, and Talia felt her mouth dry out a little at the thought of how it would feel against her fingers. Her own hair had been pinned back in a style that kept it off her face but down; she’d noticed Calypso’s eyes on it when she’d unbraided it quickly to fix it the day before.

“I did— wonderfully, my dear Calypso, though I hope you slept better than I did.” Calypso’s mouth had twisted sideways at that - in concern, or something else? Talia nodded at her maid, who closed the door behind them, leaving them in relative privacy, letting her drop courtesies. “What? What has your mouth halfway up your face like that?”

Calypso looked seemingly everywhere, even darting back to the door behind her before meeting Talia’s eyes. “My name. Alone like that, without any formal titles or anything just feels. Wrong. Like it’s someone else.”

Talia sighed. “It is your name, however. One of the first lessons we’ll have to go over is the different levels of formality and intimacy in address and in which situations we’ll need each. Like it or not, Calypso is your given name, like Lord Song is your given title, like Lieutenant Zhao is your earned one.” There. She thought she had gotten through that without any excessive feeling, but looking up at Calypso told her she was wrong. “What? You really will have to learn to hide your emotions better if you ever hope to survive at court.”

Calypso looked down at her hands, before crossing the room to stand by Talia. “I know you were supposed to be Lord Song. You’d be better suited to it than me, honestly, and I am sorry for how this all was decided, in declarations instead of questions. But I want you to know that in my mind, you are Lord Song.”

“Just hope that no one else hears you say that.” Talia couldn’t hold back a burst of laughter. “You really _weren’t_ raised with any aspiration to the court, were you? Everything in the court is declarations, never questions. Never anything that could be seen as weakness.”

She reached out to take Calypso’s hand, letting herself feel the story there, in each callous on her fingers. She had come without gloves, a fact which Talia was rather enjoying, especially as the contact set off a blush across Calypso’s face that seemed out of place. It suited her, though, suited how she had come today, less buttoned-up than her armor and regimented manners. It suited the woman in front of her, with her hair down and darting glances, who stood solidly in front of her, without any thought that such solidity would be laughed out of any salon. She squeezed Calypso’s hand. “Tell me what you would like me to call you, what you like to be called, and we will form a plan. Hesitation is a weakness, and much of the court has been raised to take advantage of such. We cannot afford to show any, not if we wish to uncover what is truly at stake here, and why my father threw away his life.”

The way Calypso’s thumb stroked over the back of her hand told her everything about how tightly she was clutching at her fiance’s hand as she finished. Calypso was given to encouraging squeezes, as she was, but the way she had tightened left no room for any other movement. “We _will_ figure this out, for your sake, your father’s sake, and the Empire’s sake. I gave you my word, and I do not intend to go back on it. For the record, my friends call me Cal—I would be honored if you would count among them and do the same.”

“Cal,” Talia repeated, tilting her head as she eyed the woman in front of her. “It suits you, to a point, but certainly more in armor than in the halls. Calypso is an old name, and you may want that tradition and history to fall back on when you are in the Council.”

“Won’t I have a title there? Lord Song, and that lineage, that is?”

“Not in the drawing rooms, where baijiu is passed around like water and titles are discarded. It will do good to remind them that you are not as out of place as they might suspect.”

“But I will be. Out of place, that is.”

Talia looked into her eyes, pressing her point. “You must never let them think that. To show any weakness willingly is to give up, unless you have a greater plan at work. You will let them think you are a puppet of the Regent, chosen for your loyalty and values. They don’t have to be wrong, but they must never know how much you don’t want to be there - don’t bother lying to me, it’s clear on your face.

“But in here, in these rooms—if it will help, I can call you Cal.”

“It might help. I’ve never been good at undercover missions.”

“No, I can see that. Your face is too honest, too expressive. You’re lucky the Regent doesn’t pay attention to anyone once he’s deemed them worthless or else we would be doomed from the start.” She reached up to trace Cal’s cheek, watching as Cal’s eyes fluttered and her mouth twitched in an effort not to smile and lean into her hand. “You really do react so beautifully. It’s a shame and a blessing you were the one pulled into this.”

“A shame?”

“Deceit is never easy, even for the best reasons. Court really does ruin the best people; you wouldn’t imagine the people I grew up with and how much I can’t stand them now.”

“Then. A blessing?”

“I can’t even imagine if one of the others had been pulled into this. I never would have known that my father was innocent, that I needed to watch my back; I would have been halfway back to Matoung and they likely would have let me, content to be Lord Song in my fuming absence. And then I would have missed your wonderfully expressive face — really, it is very refreshing.”

Talia could tell Cal felt put out by that. It was in the way her lips stuck out, almost in a pout, and foolishly, Talia wanted to trace it with her fingers. “I don’t see what’s wrong with showing what you feel.”

“Of course you don’t; you didn’t grow up at court. At court, every emotion you let people know about is information — you either drop it knowingly to tell people what you want them to know about you, or they know things about you you’d rather they didn’t.”

“Oh. I...I see. So I guess you know everything about me, then?”

“Close. I know you enlisted out of belief in the system, that you rose through the ranks, that you trust the Throne, that you’ve never wanted anything to do with politics before now, that I throw you off guard, and that your favorite toy when you were seven was stolen by your brother.”

“I was eight and _how_ did you possibly know that?”

Cal’s shocked expression was everything Talia could have ever hoped for. She laughed outright, delighted, dropping Cal’s hand to cover her mouth lightly. “That one was a wild guess, but thank you for confirming it; I don’t have siblings, but I have heard stories. Was I correct otherwise?’’

“You know you were.”

Reaching back to take Cal’s hand so quickly after she dropped it would have been foolish, even if her hand felt cold and empty. Instead, she moved to sit on the sofa, patting it invitingly. “I do. And that’s all through your expressions.”

“No one else has ever been able to read me that way.”

“As much as I would like to feel flattered, much of that might be obvious to anyone who pays attention.”

“Do you think many on the Council would pay attention to someone like me?” Without her armor, Cal’s movements should have been easier, more fluid, but as Talia watched her sit on the couch next to her, her body was still stiff and tense.

“Yes. A new addition? Especially one from the Guard, rather than a branch noble family? Everyone’s eyes will be on you. You can give away nerves but nothing else. Anything else will consign your standing to being sacrificed on the altar of their reputations, and we can’t afford that. Not with so much in the balance. Not before we find anything else that we can use as ammunition.”

“What sorts of things do you mean?”

“Proof,” Talia replied. She leant back, letting her eyes close as she thought. “Proof that a further plot was happening, proof that something else - anything else - could have toppled the Throne. I will apologize now, but never again, that if we find anything that vindicates my father and implicates the Throne, or even the Empire, I won’t hesitate to bring it forward.”

Talia opened one eye to watch Cal’s face work at that, work through the layers of her loyalty and commitment and sort through who she owe it to the most, her heart in her throat as she waited for an answer. Finally, Cal sighed. “As long as it is for the good of the people of the Empire, it should be brought to light. Lying helps no one.” She looked askance, blinking rapidly, and Talia could see her hands were clenched tightly on her lap.

“Oh, Cal.” Talia reached forward to touch Cal’s hand, the tough lighter and more sympathetic than she had intended. At the first touch, Cal’s hand relaxed, twisting quickly to catch her own, seeking assurance. Talia’s chest ached for her. “Lies are what empires are built upon; our own is not exempt from that.

“Anyway, come look at this.” She took advantage of Cal’s hand in hers to tug Cal up and over towards the desk, where she’d spread a number of papers she’d gathered from her father’s study. One in particular had caught her attention earlier that morning. “It’s a map of the island, as it used to be, before the keep expanded into the city of Feing.” Talia felt Cal come up behind her, pause, and then press in fully when she realized she wouldn’t be able to see the old map unless she watched over Talia’s shoulder. Her warmth was welcome, even as it sent a slight shiver through Talia as she felt the press of Cal’s breasts to her back, the smell of leather mingling with lemon, even though she wore no armor. Nothing Cal did gave away whether or not she had noticed, so Talia pressed on, pointing to a corner of the map. “This is the part of keep that the noble families occupied. There wasn’t enough space for any family to have more than a section to themselves in that time, which, in my opinion, is why the keep didn’t last very long. As you’ll see, very few of the families actually get along on more than the surface.”

From the silence behind her, Talia could tell Cal was thinking, putting the pieces of the old map and current geography together; it would be much easier if Cal could come to the same conclusion she had. Much had changed over the centuries. However…

“There.” Cal’s finger landed on the map, not far from Talia’s own. To reach, she was now leaning against Talia in earnest, her unbound hair brushing across Talia’s cheek and making keeping her attention on the map and the matter at hand harder than it should have been with all that was at stake. “These are family mansions now. And…,” she trailed off before continuing, turning her face to meet Talia’s, then blushing quickly when she realized how close they were. She ducked her head, surprisingly, and turned back to the map. “This one...this one’s the Song mansion.”

Talia nodded, half hoping the motion would draw Cal’s attention and gaze back to her. She was pleased she’d grasped the layout so quickly; maybe there was something to not working alone after all. “Even more interesting, most of the rooms are still in the same locations. It looks like they simply removed some of the apartments in between what are now mansions and added outer walls, but left the apartments that make up the inner rooms the same. All except...this one.” She trailed her finger across the map, nudging Cal’s out of the way gently to tap on one room in the middle of the old apartment. “This one’s on this old map, but as someone who grew up here, I’d swear this room doesn’t exist. Except for the fact that it would have been impossible to move without changing _something_ about the rooms around it and above it.”

“Somehow I didn’t take you for the type of kid to go castle exploring.” Cal gave her a grin, stepping back a bit to give her some space, and while Talia relished the chance to return to a more normal heart rate, a part of her wanted Cal’s solidity back, which she shoved down. The security and easy surety Cal radiated drew Talia to her like a moth to the flame, that part of her wanting any sort of port in a storm, but distractions could be costly. Not until she knew what they were dealing with.

She allowed herself a rueful grin, though, tossing her own hair lightly and relishing the way Cal’s eyes widened slightly at the movement. “I’ll have you know I knew every single nook and cranny—any place I could take a book and not be disturbed I found. It’s more difficult than you would think when you’ve got every member of your household trying to make sure you couldn’t.” The memory of hiding in her father’s study came to her: she couldn’t have been more than nine, trying to get out of some lesson or other, a book in tow. She’d slipped in carefully, trying not to make any noise and had darted for the cabinet in the corner that held her father’s records. It had taken her until she was halfway across the room, too preoccupied in trying to keep quiet for her to realize her father had been at his desk, a wide grin across his face as he watched her. She’d been horror-stricken and had almost fled from the room, but he’d winked at her and motioned towards the cabinet. Just as she’d scrambled in and shut the door behind her, her tutor had knocked on the door. Apologizing for disturbing Lord Song, he’d asked if Talia had come in here to escape. Talia had had to stifle a giggle as her father, in more serious tones than she’d ever heard him speak, had told her tutor she was nowhere to be seen, and not to disturb him for the rest of the day, with wishes that he would find Talia. A moment later, the cabinet door had opened, she’d crawled out and found a seat on the other side of his desk, reading quietly to the background of her father’s pen scratching across his papers until the afternoon light had faded away.

Her father’s study. His papers. His desk. Talia knew that the smile had dropped from her face when Cal stepped in towards her, but the brush of her thumb across her cheek surprised her. She wiped her own eyes quickly, clearing her throat and taking a step back, onto safer ground. “At any rate, while it’s possible this space still exists, there aren’t any entrances.”

“What about a hidden one?” At the soft tone in Cal’s voice, Talia wished she had the time to cry properly; she was sure Cal wouldn’t begrudge her mourning her father, knew she would offer Talia her shoulder without a second thought. It would feel good—Cal might even run a hand through Talia’s hair as she sobbed, wouldn’t make a comment afterward about Talia’s swollen eyes, might not even ask her to speak about it at all. But they didn’t have time - they had days, if not hours. Talia shoved down the foolish wants and pressed her eyes shut briefly.

“Hidden entrances?” She thought about it, about the empty space in the middle of the plans, what was around it, below it, above it. Above it. Her eyes snapped open. “It’s on the lower floor, so it would likely be a staircase—the kitchens are next to it, which would be hard to keep secret. No hidden panels in the corridor, but...my father’s study is right above it.”

“That must be it!” Cal’s excitement was quickly tempered as she met Talia’s eyes, and Talia cursed herself for not being able to control her emotions about this better. “I can search on my own, if you’d like.” She stepped forward again, slowly enough that Talia could have backed away if she’d wanted to. As if she wasn’t rooted to the spot in a spiral of hope and grief. “You don’t have to if it’ll be too much for you.” Cal’s hand cupped her cheek, and it was all Talia could do not to turn her face into it entirely, as if it would hide her from Cal’s suddenly all-too-knowing gaze. As it was, she still tilted her face into it, into that comfort that she was quickly associating with the smell of leather and the lemon, with the feel of the callus on the side of Cal’s thumb as it moved in soothing motions over her skin, this time her cheek. Shutting her eyes only shut out the sight of Cal—it made her warmth, her scent, her entire proximity that much more prominent. The gasp that escaped sounded more like a sob to her ears, and Talia couldn’t help but flinch slightly at the feeling of Cal’s lips against her forehead, her free arm going around Talia’s shoulders, couldn’t help but instinctively tuck her head against Cal’s shoulder as she drew close, shuddering slightly as she felt the hand that had been against her cheek slide to cup the back of her neck, keeping her close.

God, how she wished they had time. Inhaling seemed all but impossible with the way she wanted to expel everything she was already holding inside. She wanted to cry, to scream and rage against this whole situation, to let the current of her anger and grief wash her clean. Instead, she focused on the rhythm of Cal’s hand against her back, her thumb against her neck, letting their slow circles guide her breaths and she could have kissed Cal for the way she seemed to be steadfastly ignoring the way Talia’s shoulders shuddered with each one.

Eventually, she pulled away, the movement quicker than she would have liked, but any slower and she knew she would have let herself be pulled back into the orbit of Cal’s arms and silent support. ”It’ll be faster if I do it,” Talia said, her voice thick in her throat, but she couldn’t afford the weakness to herself that clearing her throat or thanking Cal would be. It would be too close to acknowledging the way she was starting to think of Cal and how each thought felt like a betrayal. “I already know most of the obvious hiding places, as well as his habits.”

There was no way to ignore the way Cal was staring at her, watching her, so Talia made herself lift her chin and meet her eyes. She watched Cal work through her next words, starting and stopping a response almost as soon as it was formed. Finally, she spoke, each word measured. “You’re assuming he knew about this.”

“After all of this, how can we assume he didn’t?” The words would have come out bitter no matter what she did to hide it, so Talia just let them be. “Fake plot or not, my father clearly knew more than he let on, and nothing he taught me or kept in his study matches up with this. It has to be the old Song library.”

“Old library?”

“Each of the old families can trace the line back to one of the original colonist crews. It’s the reason the name is passed on through titles, rather than keep it connected to an actual bloodline that can die out or marry off. Most of the families donated the books and records from the beginning of the colonies, even through the beginning of the Empire, to universities. For some reason, the Song family never did—the “official” answer is that there wasn’t a real library, that all of the records were joint projects and kept by other families. Certainly the Song name pops up often enough elsewhere that no one questions it publicly. I always thought it was just elsewhere.” Talia paused, not wanting to say the words. “It was what we talked about, the last time I saw him. Fought, really. I wanted to know about it so badly, wanted to read what was there. I even tried to frame it as wanting to learn about the old terraseeding techniques, rather than as part of my language studies, which he’d never liked. He told me to stop chasing myths, that I didn’t know what I was talking about, what I was doing by even asking.” Her throat grew tight and her eyes hot, but Talia pushed on, clutching the fabric of her over-robe, vision swimming as she stared down. “I got so mad. I yelled at him, asked why he didn’t think he could trust me—asked how I was ever going to be Lord Song if he didn’t. I told him not to contact me, that he could only do so when he was ready to treat me like an adult.” Her voice broke. “I left without saying goodbye.” She reached out blindly, clutching at Cal’s hand when she felt it slip into hers. “I never got to say goodbye. I’m sorry I’m doing nothing but crying; he was a traitor, and traitors don’t get tears.”

“He was your father. And he sounded like he was just trying to protect you.” The softness in Cal’s voice would have been nearly unbearable, if it hadn’t been the only thing keeping her from breaking down completely.

“That’s the worst thing; I think he was, which makes this all the worse—what changed? Why did he have to do this? What did he hope to gain?”

“We’ll find out; I promised you that before, and I won’t go back on my word now.”

Another deep, almost shuddering breath as Talia pulled herself back together, stepping away from Cal and grasping at the strands on anger underneath her grief to steady her. She needed to do this without becoming a mess. “Then...let’s go to the study.” She’d already moved towards the door, hand on the handle before she realized Cal hadn’t moved from where she stood.

“Now?” she asked, watching Talia warily. _As if I’ll break. Again_ , Talia thought. She set her shoulders against Cal’s next words. “Wouldn’t you rather wait?”

“I would _rather_ do a lot of things,” Talia snapped, throwing the door open and stepping into the hallway. The path from her rooms to her father’s study was so ingrained she could have done it blindfolded, which was good for all she was watching where she was going now. The echo of footsteps behind her told her that Cal was following, thankfully silently. Any words to—anyone, even the rest of her household, who were either smart enough to stay out of her way or busy enough to do otherwise—was more than she could handle right now. Opening the doors of the study would be hard enough.

She felt her anger waver as she put her hand on the door, sensing Cal come up behind her, still silent, still trusting. She deserved better—it wasn’t her fault they’d both been thrown into this mess, and as much as Talia wanted to blame—lash out at—someone for all of this, she knew Cal was just as much of a pawn. Surely she also didn’t relish a marriage to someone she hadn’t know two days past. It wasn’t a conversation for the hallway in any case; she had to at least open the door, since she didn’t know if she could swallow the humiliation of admitting she couldn’t face her father’s study after all. The door swung open easily, Cal padding in behind her to the dark room, the lights coming on as they entered. Shelves formed almost every wall, full of books and artifacts and other records. She let the door swing shut before moving over to her father’s desk, bracing herself on it and hoping to take some of his strength from it before speaking. “That was unfair of me, I apologize. But you have to understand—all I know is that my father thought this to be a dire situation, so much so that he felt it was worth his life, that it somehow has to do with family secrets I don’t even know, and that the Regent wants me to marry you in two days. I need to know if I need to stop that, _now_.”

The minute the words were out of her mouth, she wished she’d said them differently. Cal’s hand, reaching out for hers, stopped, even as Cal smiled, though it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. The lightness in her tone tugged at Talia’s heart. “Would marrying me really be so bad?” she teased. “I wouldn’t stop helping you—I’d think it would make it easier for us to be allies, and so far, I think we work fairly well together.”

“I don’t _know_ , and that’s the problem. I don’t know why the Regent wants us to be married, and so soon, at that. I need to know if it’s a trap, what he’s thinking, and if it is, how to get out of it.”

“I see.” Cal was looking anywhere but her, head tilted slightly forward in a way that felt wrong somehow. It let her hair swing forward to slightly hide her face, and Talia realized with a pang that it felt so wrong because Cal had always looked at her so focused before, with all of her attention.

Talia reached for Cal’s hand herself, taking some hope from the fact that it was still outstretched, that Cal hadn’t pulled away entirely or let it drop. She squeezed it, putting all the sincerity she could muster into her voice. “If it’s not a trap, if we can find some way to make it work in our favor, I wouldn’t object.”

“Really?” Cal still wasn’t looking quite at her, but at least her head was up, and Talia let herself hope.

“I need to have _someone_ in this city to talk to, don’t I?” Talia teased, relief rushing through her when Cal finally, finally made eye contact with her again and Talia could see that her smile reached her eyes this time. As much as she wanted to drop eye contact, to not say these next words, Cal deserved her honesty. “A part of me had been looking forward to it, in fact.”

Talia hadn’t realized that she’d been cataloguing Cal’s smiles until she realized she hadn’t seen this one before. It was a broad sort, open in a way that took her breath away. Cal really would be a terrible politician, every emotion on display like that, and Talia briefly wondered how many people just went along with anything Cal suggested, just to see her smile like that.

“How big a part?” Though the words weren’t quite whispered, they felt that delicate, and Talia felt herself smile softly in response.

“Bigger every time I see you, if I’m honest. I just don’t like not knowing what’s going on or not knowing what people want from me.”

“I think it’s pretty clear what I want from you.” Both of her hands were in Cal’s now, somehow, and even if she’d wanted to, Talia didn’t feel like she could have pulled away. Even if Cal’s tone was teasing, the intensity in her gaze stole Talia’s breath away and sent heat rushing through her body.

“You just want me for my title.” Her voice had also dropped to barely louder than a whisper, the true questions asked and answered through the way neither she nor Cal had dropped eye contact yet.

“Obviously.” Talia could feel Cal’s hands tighten in hers, couldn’t tell if it was her pulse or her own drumming between them, if it was nerves or exhilaration driving it higher and faster.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Oh, I wish you would.”

Using her grip on Cal’s hands, Talia pulled her forward, stumbling slightly, until she was smiling up at Talia, softer now, but no less bright. The kiss was oddly hesitant, as if neither of them were truly sure that this was actually happening, neither of them moving for fear of breaking the moment. Cal’s lips were soft beneath hers, just as she remembered, but this time she lingered, gradually increasing pressure, leaning into Cal until she felt her gasp and her mouth open.

The gasp seemed to snap something, some restraint in both of them that sent Cal surging up against her, letting go of Talia’s hands to cup her face. Talia braced herself on the desk with one hand, the other going up to tangle in Cal’s hair. The strands slipped free about her fingers, a waterfall of mahogany in the dim light of the study. Clutching the back of Cal’s head brought her closer, shifting and settling between Talia’s legs as she leant more heavily against the desk.

What was she doing? Aside from having the breath kissed out of her by the up-until-now solid and steady Calypso Zhao, who now was all motion, rocking on her heels slightly to keep kissing Talia at new angles, her body pressing up against and then moving away from Talia’s in a way that kept her captivated. She shifted with Cal, matching her move for move, not wanting to relinquish an inch of contact now that she had it, pulling her closer all the while. She’d wanted Cal’s stability, her surety, and knew that the taste of it she’d had these past few days wouldn’t be enough. She knew it might have to be, with the way things looked, with what she knew of the Regent, which made the feeling of Cal’s lips against hers, the way her tongue lapped gently at Talia’s bottom lip, as if hesitant even though Talia knew she’d have bruises tomorrow from the grip Cal had against her waist, all the more necessary. Anything to feel alive, to feel _in control_. Anything with Cal she could get.

Right now, Cal had pulled back, but before Talia could protest, had started kissing along the line of her jaw, up to her ear, lingering and nipping in turn. Her jawline hadn’t seemed so sensitive in the past, when other lovers had kissed her there, but each movement of Cal’s lips against her skin reverberated throughout her body. Talia whimpered as Cal’s teeth closed around her earlobe, teasing the earring that was set there, legs turned to jelly.

“That can be my wedding gift,” Cal breathed into her ear, sounding pleasingly unsteady herself as Talia clutched her closer, another short gasp falling from her lips. “Ionian basalt, to hang from your ears.” She kissed Talia’s neck, nipped the curve of her ear, and Talia wanted it, wanted a world in which they could be married with no strings attached, in which Cal could adorn her, no matter how impractical it might be for her studies. “There’d be chains, delicate ones, attached to an upper cuff, and each time you moved, you’d think of me.”

“I already do.” Talia wriggled a bit, shifted so that she was sitting on the desk instead of just leaning on it, enjoying the way it made Cal have to go on her toes to keep the same contact, keeping her close. She liked being wanted, Cal’s easy honesty was an unexpected balm—she’d never had time for such comments before, but now she felt like the curtness or viele lies that hard marked her encounters in the court or at school would feel abrasive.

“Then it’ll just make you all the more beautiful, and I’ll be happy to know it was my doing.” Cal had moved from her ear down to the edge of the collar of her robe, and Talia tilted her neck to give her access, not wanting to deny Cal anything she wanted, shifting her hands back as she did to support her weight.

As she did, she felt something give under her hand and heard a click from across the room. Immediately, she sat up, cringing as she slammed into Cal’s face and knocking her back slightly. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“That click. Did you hear that click?”

Now Cal was looking around too, scanning the room for anything changed. “You mean the sort of click that usually implies a secret door being unlocked?” She moved back, letting Talia slide off the desk, even though a rather large part of her wished she could pull Cal back to her.

“The very same.” She looked back at the whorl in the wood of the desk she’d inadvertently pressed and let her eyes scan the room, letting memory overlap with what she was seeing now. “There. That shelf.” In the corner, it looked slightly more forward than the shelves around it, and as she moved towards it and touched it, it swung forward, revealing a set of stone steps. Curving downard.

Hands settled on her hips in a gesture that in anyone else Talia would have called impudence and she would have balked at the implied possessiveness, but in Cal, felt reassuring, especially as her thumb soothed a small circle against her hip. “We have to go down, right?”

“We have to go down.”

Even the kiss against her cheek couldn’t draw Talia’s eyes away from the stairs; there were lights set into the wall, dim but clearly motion-sensored, activated in series as they moved downwards. “Well, then, let’s head down and find what we can find.”

They descended in silence, though Talia reached back and was gratified when Cal’s hand grasped hers almost immediately. It wasn’t a long stair, and soon they were down, in a space smaller than the study they’d just left, walls made of stone and covered in records. Like the study above it, the walls were more shelves than flat surface, and like the room above, just as full. A mix, from the look of it, digital and handwritten, and Talia made a face at the digital ones, knowing they’d have to find someone trustworthy to decode them. Hopefully the written records would hold enough that they could tell how deep this went.

Cal whistled behind her, the sound echoing against the stone. “You weren’t kidding about a library.” That was the thing about digital records: few people knew how to handle historical ones these days, but they took up no space at all—even from a glance, Talia could tell there had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of entries on a single wall. She stepped forward and pulled one of the written ones down, thumbing through it carefully. It was in better condition than she would have expected something of its age, but she supposed it likely had something to do with the preservatives in the paper-making process, as well as the conditions of the room itself. It was in one of the old languages, one of the Earth languages, even, but she could make out enough, even at a glance. _Terraform, island, boar, fence. Empire, sky, food, living._

She snapped the book shut and looked for another. “If my father wanted us to find anything, I’m sure it’s here.”

“Um. Talia…,” Cal trailed off, and Talia turned to find her holding a sheet of paper. “I think this is for you.”

 _Babu_ , she could see written across the top, and she all but tore the letter from Cal’s hands.

“It’s— It’s from my father.”

_Babu,_

_This is the hardest letter I’ve had to write, but if you find this as a free woman, it will have been worth it._

_I apologize for how this all had to happen. I never wanted to keep all this from you, but I hope you will understand in time how necessary it was. If she ever learns that you know of this place, you will not only lose every advantage I have fought to give you, but will you will also be in grave danger. If all has gone according to my plan, someone else, unconnected, will be named to inherit my title, and you will be safe._

_The Song library is one of the last, possibly the last of the original record troves. Knowledge of all of the family libraries was intended to be passed along with the title, in the hopes that each generation would continue building on past endeavors and learning from past mistakes. However, through rebellion and rulings, most of the lines were broken. Titles were passed down, but without the knowledge, or if the knowledge was, those who inherited it wanted nothing to do with it. The Song family is the last unbroken line, and with each generation, the records here become more vital. I cannot read them, but for a few words, but what I can read is enough to know that the information here could be the tipping point in how this next era comes about. You, my daughter, my pride and joy, will know what to do. I am so, so sorry to leave you in this way, but this end was coming one way or another. At least this way I can hopefully ensure the information goes to you._

_With any luck, the fact that the title will be inherited without knowledge or training will give you shelter and buy you time as you decide what to do with the knowledge here. With even more luck, whoever inherits will be on your side. They can shield you as you help them, I hope._

_The Empire has become bloated, hiding things from its people in the guise of peaceful propaganda and taking away choices. I could not reveal this, not on my own, but I can only hope your voice will be heard over mine, unconnected by scandal. Take down Irina, as I did not have the strength to. Expose the truth to our people._

_I love you, and whatever you choose, you have already made me unspeakably proud. May the Mercies guide you._

_Your loving father,_

_Rafael Song_

Talia’s voice shook as she finished; she didn’t realize her hand had been shaking as well until Cal took it, steadying it and how the letter wavered in the air.

“Bit of a jerk, to make you do something he couldn’t.” Cal was trying to make her laugh, she could tell, but the shock shivering throughout her muscles kept her from doing much else but responding seriously.

“He knew I could read these. He wasn’t very good with the old languages—I’m sure you saw even his shorthand was atrocious.” She let go of the letter, leaving it to Cal’s care, and went to trail a finger down the spine of the old records. “Take down Irina, he says. Like it’ll be that simple.” She laughed, the sound shallow even to her ears.

“Does that mean something to you? It sounded like a name, but whose?”

“Irina.” Talia tilted her head up towards the ceiling. “It’s the intimate name of the woman you know as Juno. The Royal Advisor.” She turned to face Cal, eyes hard. “My mother.”

 

* * *

 

“Your mother?’ Cal choked out, not believing what she’d just heard. “Your mother. Juno, the Royal Advisor, is your _mother_? But—but she’s only second to the Regent in command; some people said she should have been Regent in the first place.” Everything she said felt inadequate, and she had the distinct feeling that anything she said in this place would be, out of time and out of her element, surrounded by glittering old digital records, blinking their lights at the two of them, silent watches, or harbingers of doom, she didn’t know. She didn’t belong here, except for the way that she couldn’t have been anywhere else, that the thought of leaving right now felt the same as ripping her heart out of her chest likely would have, leaving Talia to all of this, to face all of this alone. She thought of Talia’s face, of the way it had flickered between vulnerability and determination as she’d walked down the stairs, as she’d looked around the room. As she’d read her father’s letter. There hadn’t been anyone on her side previously, not really. Cal could tell her father had loved her, but if that letter was anything to go by, he’d placed aspirations and hopes upon her all the same, with no thought for whether or not Talia actually wanted to be dragged into this whole political mess. Well Cal would stand by her side: if Talia wanted to go through with this, Cal would play her part, and if she didn’t, Cal would see to it that the stone staircase and all its records were caved in herself. Whether or not the Empire got their hands on the records was irrelevant, she thought with a start, distressingly aware that even three days ago if she had learned about a trove like this, she would have reported it to her commander immediately. Like she had Lord Song’s treachery.

She didn’t like the thought that all of this had been planned out; she was used to taking orders, but at least those were out in the open—an understanding between commander and commanded. Though, she thought, there was no way even Lord Song would have known that she would have been the one to whom the title passed. He couldn’t have known how enraptured she’d become of his daughter. And wasn’t that a comfort, that at least something in all of this was her own choice, and Talia’s on top of that. A reminder, a hope to cling to, that some part of this path they chose for themselves.

Talia still hadn’t moved, still staring at the spines of the old records. Even from the side, Cal could tell she wasn’t actually reading them, her eyes unfocused and her hand still. Part of her wished they hadn’t found the library, hadn’t found the letter, except that the letter was a piece of the goodbye Cal knew Talia wished for, that they had only found the letter through that kiss in the study, and _oh_ , that kiss. Cal had kissed others before, had short-lived relationships with others in her barracks and shorter-lived ones with people outside of them, people who didn’t understand that duty came first. She’d clung to that, to duty and her job, in what defined her place in this world, out here among the stars.

At least, until Talia Song. She’d never wanted to walk away from Feing before—Alexandria and the other university islands held no appeal, nor did traveling the stars just for the sake of it. But now she wanted to run, to grab Talia’s hand and take her away, away from all of this scheming and pretending and people who said one thing and wanted the opposite.

She made herself plant her feet and reach out to Talia. She wanted to run, but Talia wanted to be here. She’d all but said her vows, so here she would stand, ready to shield Talia against whatever they came up against.

“Tell me what you need me to do.”

For the first time, Cal saw Talia as she must have been, before all of this—just a girl in a forest of books, letting herself get lost in the potential of it all. Then, her eyes sharpened and they met Cal’s. “I need you to be Lord Song.” She stepped closer. “I need you to marry me.”

Cal wound one hand into Talia’s hair, careful of the pins that still haphazardly arranged it, that she had already pushed mostly out of place earlier. “I wouldn’t say no, not for all the ships in the sky.” And hells did she want at least one right now, but she leant forward and kissed Talia’s forehead instead, then her nose, then Talia was pulling her close and kissing her hard, desperately, and Cal would have agreed to anything in that moment, anything that would have kept the light in Talia’s eyes and a smile on her lips. Felt she already had, in agreeing to be complicit in taking down a pillar of the Throne. But she trusted Talia, trusted the way she had trusted Cal with her own honesty and knowledge—about the crops, about the court, about her father. Talia was worth protecting, and the way she had spoken about the Throne and the Empire as different entities—the Empire was the people, all of the people, and if they could be helped...

After an eternity, Talia stepped back, leaving Cal gasping for breath and even more disheveled than before. Dazed, she all but panted as Talia rested her forehead against her own, both of them grinning wildly: Talia likely with some sort of plan, and Cal echoing, ready to follow her.

“Well then, Lord Song, let’s go tell the Regent we have a wedding to plan, and a title to pass down.” They could do it; Cal would take the Council position, try and root out information and if any of the other families knew of what the old libraries had held, as well as gain a sense of how the court stood, who could be on their side if the information they found really did reveal rot in the foundations of the Empire. It would be hard, harder than anything she’d done before, but she wouldn’t go it alone. She leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Talia’s lips, beaming softly.

“And then, Lady Song?”

“Then, my dear Calypso, then we have a Throne to topple.”


End file.
